


SOMA Ex Machina

by TheSqeekyKiwi



Category: Deus Ex: Human Revolution, SOMA (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, I'm not nice to him here, Inspiration is an unfaithful bitch, My First AO3 Post, My First Work in This Fandom, Not My First Fanfic, Please Don't Kill Me, Poor Adam, and, and I lost inspiration, and not my best writing, and pain, but - Freeform, but that was months ago, everything is subject to change, hello internet, i know it's bad, not creative, tear it to shreds guys, that's what it is, this may or may not continue, this was inspired by a Tumblr post, what even is the title?, with two games I love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-18 00:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10605087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSqeekyKiwi/pseuds/TheSqeekyKiwi
Summary: {A SOMA/Deus Ex crossover.}"It's not the end of the world, but you can see it from here..."Adam Jensen is at the end of the line.  He stands in the core of Panchaea, miles beneath the ocean, as the Aug Incident rages above on the surface.  Eliza has put forth the options, and he must now make the choice: what will become of humanity in the wake of this disaster?At the same time, a consciousness stirs on the ocean floor and structure gel seeps.  PATHOS-II comes to life in the aftermath as the WAU awakens.  It tires of the empty facility, and has planned accordingly...Adam will awake after all is said and done, alive, but will find himself once more a puppet manipulated against his will.Again, he never asked for this...





	1. Jensen's Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Kiwi here, I'm going to be honest everyone:  
> this fic may or may not continue.
> 
> Just putting that out there at the beginning so no one gets their hopes up. I wrote this back in December 2016 when a bolt of inspiration hit, and has since been relegated to the back-burner. School ate up my time and I started writing another fic, so all inspiration here was lost. I've even got an outline of everything, but am lacking in the necessary time and motivation to do so.
> 
> Thus, I'm setting this as a warning that after the first two initial chapters, there's nothing else. Zip. Zilch. Nada. I figured I'd at least put this up because it leaves off at a nice point, and gives me the option to continue later if I suddenly find inspiration again.
> 
> Kind of also using this as a test run to see how my writing will be received otherwise. I haven't written fanfic in such a long time (the last one from 3 years ago is probably never going to get finished now), and I'm nervous to throw my other current fic out into the void of the Internet. 
> 
> In conclusion: Like it? Let me know. Don't like it? Let me know. I'm open to all criticism.
> 
> Kiwi out.

“The choice is yours. Do you believe you have the wisdom to choose an appropriate future for mankind? Or do you trust mankind to find the answers on its own? What will you do, Adam?”

He stood before the screens and control panels, swaying lightly on his feet, shoulders slightly hunched. Every breath was painful. His ribs sent small electric shocks through his chest as they expanded and contracted, and a sharp pain was beginning to settle in his stomach, getting worse every time his lungs took in air. His HUD swam before his eyes as a cough rattled his ribs and he tasted blood. He spat to rid the coppery flavor from his mouth, and dark crimson splattered the floor.

“Adam?”

His attention was drawn back to the central screen, back to Eliza’s face. He could have sworn he saw a flicker of worry cross her features. His mind was muddled, between the pain that coursed through his body and the choices before him. He had worked hard over the past 6 months to find the truth, every scrap of it, from The Tyrants to Omega Ranch, and from that blasted biochip to the Illuminati. Many sacrifices had been made, by those who chose to help and by those who had no choice, just so he could know.

But knowledge was power, and power brought responsibility. Was that something he was willing to take on and burden himself with the consequences? Could he decide the fate of humanity, him and himself alone? He could choose the other options, lessen the burden on himself and shift it to others… But they were half-truths, facts hidden in shadows. Half-truths were no better than straight lies.

He became light-headed and his vision tilted as he stumbled to the right, leaning against the wall that seemed to appear out of nowhere for support. Every breath was agony now. Splintered ribs felt like they might pierce his skin at any second; grating, gouging, and stabbing the inside of his torso.

So which was better, the truth or half-truths?  The truth would be best, but would it have the best outcome?  He wasn’t sure.

“I don’t know…” he wheezed to himself. “There’s...not enough time…”

“There isn’t,” Eliza capitulated his statement. “But the decision must be made, Adam.”

The truth? Half-truths? He was still going back and forth in his mind, he couldn’t decide…

 

Or nothing?

 

His head snapped up and his eyes settled on the passage off the main room, to the pressure regulation controls. The truth, or nothing…

He shouldn’t be the one. He was not the one to tell humanity, to dictate their truths. With all he had been through, he had strived to keep his feet on the ground, to avoid unnecessary loss and, more importantly, do the right thing. It had gotten him this far…

But it gave him no right. Even if he had upheld his own values, striven to avoid losing himself in the chaos, he had no right. He was one man, who was he to tell the 10 billion people of the world what was the truth? It was not up to him, or Darrow, or Sarif, or Taggart…

It would just have to be up to them.

He pushed off the wall and lurched towards the passageway, leaning on the paneling to anchor himself to something, to keep him aware. The sensors in his fingers and palms relayed sensory details: cool, smooth, metal.

Humanity was resourceful, it always had been. The answers were out there, they just had to be simply tied together in the right order. When that would happen, he did not know. But one thing was certain: no one from Panchaea would hold that string.

He rounded the bend, the controls at the far end. He continued forward, until he stumbled on a bundle of cables on the floor, sending him crashing to the ground. He cried out as he fell, a piercing pain erupting on his right side. He groaned as he pushed himself up, and a warmth began to spread down his torso He watched for a moment as the kevlar vest, meant to protect him from bullets, turned dark red as blood began to soak it from the inside. He reached up for the panel, using it to pull himself upright. If anything, the shot of pain had kicked in another jolt of adrenaline, clearing his vision as he gazed upon the panel of screens, switches, and buttons. He retracted his lenses, and the golden tint that colored his world disappeared.

 _He could do this, he could do this..._ but how? Overwhelmed, his brain was failing him as he stared at foreign numbers and ranges, all meaning something and nothing simultaneously.

“If you do this, the world will be left with questions, and may never reach a consensus.” Eliza’s voice cut through his confusion from a speaker on the wall loud and clear, drawing his attention. “Are you sure this is your choice?”

“Yes,” he coughed, and blood misted the controls.

“Very well then,” she responded, “this button will shut down the console, and the pressure regulators will cease to function. Everything will collapse.” A button towards the center lit up, glowing with a soft red light.

“And Adam...” he glanced up towards the security camera overlooking the hall. She was surely watching him from there, “We will have little time left after you make your choice. Might I say, it has been a pleasure....”

He chuckled to himself, a low laugh leading to a coughing fit. “Same here,” he rasped as he pressed the button. The lights and readings instantaneously faded from the surface, and the power whined down. There was a moment of silence, of nothing.

Then there was a creak. The creak grew to a low groan as the structure around him began to feel the force of the water around it. It was pressing and prodding, trying to find a way to retake the volume stolen from it.

Then the groaning grew louder as the pressure mounted. Adam stumbled back from the panel, around the bend and back to the control room. The screens were dark, all powered down, no sign of Eliza. He turned right to make his way back down the corridor to the Hyron core. He had only made it halfway when the first leaks began.

They originated from the joint where the floor and wall met, streaming rivulets of seawater to coat the glass. His boots made small splashes as he walked. By the time he arrived back to the core, the small rivulets had grown, streaming quickly down the walls. The water rushed swiftly, weaving around his feet to pool at the lower levels. The core had already resealed itself, the women slaved to it stored inside; at least they were already dead.

The water was rising now, climbing the stairs to wrap around his ankles. Over the sound of rushing water he could hear the groans and shrieks of bending, twisting metal. His pace was slowed as he trudged through the water, wading as he approached the door out of the core room. One of the wall panels failed suddenly, shooting out from its place and crashing into him as more water rushed in. He was sent flying from the outer wall, crashing to the floor. He went to breathe and only got a lung-full of water in return. He panicked as he choked on it, lungs trying to expel the water only to pull more in. He kicked wildly and the sheet which had hit him rattled; he was pinned beneath it. He kicked again, focusing on exerting as much force as he could through his augmented legs, and it finally dislodged itself, freeing him to struggle to the surface. Darkness began to seep into his vision…

He broke the surface, coughing and choking as his lungs finally found air. He trod water, if only for a moment, before pain paralyzed his muscles and he began to sink again. He gritted his teeth and forced his head back above water, fighting exhaustion and agony. He kept swimming, coursing a path away from the wall and towards the center.

Then the ceiling failed. A large chunk of concrete crashed from above into the pool below, leaving a gaping hole where the sea poured in with abandon. The water level was rising rapidly. Then another, and another fell, creating waves where they sank. He tried to avoid them when he could, but it did not keep chunks of concrete from pelting him. He would dodge one, only to be struck with another, the wind knocked out of his lungs as he sank. He would resurface moments later, coughing and sputtering. He reached the center as the groaning and creaking became cacophonous, drowning out all other sounds…

But then it ceased. For a moment there was silence, the only sounds running water and crumbling stone. His breathing was loud in his head, filling the space as he clung to the core to keep afloat. He held his breath. Silence, save for the occasional creak. So much for…

A catastrophic failure. The core of Panchaea was well protected, designed to withstand bomb blasts and tectonic shifts; but it had not been designed to withstand this level of stress. The walls surrounding the core collapsed all at once with a thunderous crash, folding under the weight of tons of water. He barely had time to breathe again before the tide crashed around his head, tossing him in the eddies like a rag doll. He was smashed into concrete and metal scaffolding mercilessly. Bones shattered, and what wasn’t bone broke, bent and tore. It was mere moments of agony before the darkness took him, stealing his consciousness and erasing the pain.

~~~

From above sea level, Panchaea was already gone. The outer walls surrounding the center had been the first to collapse, creating a whirlpool of water and debris. By the time the core had flooded, the world was already reeling in the aftermath of multiple tragedies. Darrow’s signal had stopped, and order began to return as the augmented regained control of their own bodies. But it was a moment quickly gone, as law enforcement descended to contain and clean up the catastrophe. Some resisted, others went quietly.

Those who were not watching the chaos outside were watching their television screens, as an interim reporter read the news.

Eliza Cassan was missing. No other word was given, other than that a sudden health issue had taken her off the air.

The rampage of all augmented peoples had ceased, but reports of violence were still streaming in from across the globe. Committed by who, the police, the augmented, or naturals, was not mentioned.

Panchaea, Hugh Darrow’s dream for the future, had collapsed. Rescue teams had been dispatched to the site to begin searching for survivors. The death count was rising. Among the missing included Hugh Darrow himself, William Taggart, and David Sarif. The world was grasping at straws to determine what had happened. The destruction had been so catastrophic, so sudden, that it came as not only a shock but as a mystery.

While the world boiled in confusion, the debris of Panchaea settled.


	2. PATHOS and Pain | Part I: Pain

While the world above ruptured in chaos, the ocean bed was settling. Debris was still falling through the water around the site Panchaea had occupied, coursing downwards towards the inky depths. The vague outline of the foundations were still visible, but other than that it was no more than a pile of rubble. Silt and small pieces of coral hung in the water, suspended. The ocean was still for a moment…

From the darkness came a light, brightly cutting through the murky waters. It was a small seacraft, only built to hold one to two people, shaped roughly like a bus, but about the size of a car. It was a steely gray, only decorated by yellow and black caution lines and faded lettering, far too eroded by the seawater to be read clearly. The steady _thmpthmpthmpthmp_ of the propellers off the back set a steady rhythm. It moved slowly, steadily, methodically, tracing a precise grid pattern over the site.

However, it lacked the fluidity of a skilled human operator, one who could feel the water currents from the resistance of the engine and the pitches of its whines. The 90 degree turns were sharp and rigid, and it never wavered from a straight line. As the craft moved in and out of the shadows, it revealed a large amorphous blob settled on its roof. Small blue lights dotted the ship, twinkling like stars from black organic forms. The mass extended tendrils down the sides of the sub, creeping in and out of crevices in the hull. It appeared infested with the stuff.

The submersible took hours, moving over the wreckage until it neared the center. It stopped and paused…

<L1fe_siGn_d3tE[cted/…]>

The sub veered off of its pre-set course, making a beeline for the center.

<L1fe_siGn_d3tE[cted/…]>

It resumed its grid path, staying close to the area where the core had once stood. It stopped over a small pile of rubble.

<L1fe_siGn_{f00unD}...>

The water was filled with the reverberations of shrieking metal as two degrading, mechanical arms extended from the underside of the vehicle.

<!..bEgin_exc8vat#ioN>

The sub began clearing the surrounding rubble with surprising efficiency. Concrete, rebar, and sheet metal were shifted and moved until a human form appeared from the debris. With gentle, yet jerky, movements, the claws scooped up the form, cradling it close to its body.

<L1fe_foRm_rec0Ove-red>  
<89retUrninG_t0_{[Upsilon]}>

It’s objective accomplished, the submersible began its slow return from whence it came.

~~~

<(台)Sub.02_*B*_sigNal_Con^firMed>  
<{[Upsilon]}_W.<\--._ DRY_dock_#1_op3n[<>]...>  
<...>  
<{[Upsilon]}_W.<\--._DRY_dock_#1_cLosed[><]...>  
<{[Upsilon]}_DRY_dock_(insert/)draInage_(!source?)protocol_ActiVate&7...>  
<...>  
<AwaiT1nG_(action/){drain ~completion~}...>  
<...>  
<(action/){drain `complete’}>  
<L1fe_foRm_rec0Ove-red>  
<Engaging:_!EMERGENCY!*~_(action/sub_head.)75%resUscitat1on_(!source?)protocol>

~~~

He thought it was over. The last thing he remembered was of Panchaea: swirling debris, rushing water, and then darkness. It should have been the end of him...

He was suddenly brought back to consciousness by a jolt of pain in his chest. He coughed and sputtered, pulling fresh air into his lungs. He was on his stomach, face first on a metal grate. Lifting his head, he was greeted by a circular door some feet away, softly lit red by emergency lighting. Pipes ran close to the floor, and he could hear them gurgle as water was drained away from the room. He tried to lift himself up, but only his right arm was functioning, and barely at that. His pinky and ring finger were stuck, the servos making an audible whine when he tried to move them. Wrist movement was limited, but his elbow and shoulder still responded when he went to prop himself up. The room was short and cylindrical, another circular door he could only assume lead out of the room behind him. Now that his head was beginning to clear and his focus returning, he noticed other things: the air smelled sharply of l saltwater and seaweed, and the walls and pipes were dotted with small clusters of barnacles.

A soft mechanical whirring caught his attention, and he looked up to the left of the door. There was an old security camera there and the noise emanated from it. However, the unit appeared to have been modified. Black tendrils swirled around the support creeping into the box, and blue lights dotted its surface, twinkling in the shadows. The whirring was the sound of the camera’s lenses struggling to focus on the room. It jerked slightly as it panned down, appearing to settle on him.

He felt something wet hit him in the back of the head. It was icy cold and dripped down the back of his neck. It was like someone had slipped an ice cube down the back of his gear. He thought it was water until he looked up. Crawling and clinging to the ceiling was more of the same organic black mass that decorated the camera, and he could only watch as another droplet of shiny black goo accumulated from the globular flesh and fell. Another jolt of the icy feeling hit his back.

“What the f--,” he didn’t get a chance to swear, as he was suddenly doused in the black goo. The icy coldness was a shock to his system, causing him to freeze. From his peripheral vision, he watched the sludge drip and run down his arms and over his head. It was oily in appearance, shifting a rainbow of colors as it moved and smelled sharply metallic. He waited until the shock of the cold faded, still coated in a layer of the ooze, and moved his arm. Just a singular servo, the one in his wrist...

In an instant, the cold was replaced by searing pain. It shot up his right arm to his spine, where it burned and stabbed needles into his muscles. The goo was moving again, but not due to gravity. Now it moved of its own accord, seeping into the crevices of his augmented limbs like it was searching them out. He felt the mass on his head shift and moved too late. It coursed down his face, collecting around the dermal implants and seeping into his eyes. He was blinded and tens of large needles felt like they were being stabbed into both of his sockets. His HUD vanished as well. He blinked to clear the liquid, but only succeeded in making the sensation worse.

In the meantime, his limbs had begun to spasm and twitch, synthetic muscles relaxing and contracting at random. He could hear the occasional zap of an electrical charge, and the sensations from his limbs felt as though they were burning. He managed to muster enough coordination to flip himself onto his back, pulling in a breath that made his ribs scream. His heart was beating fast and hard inside his chest, hammering the bones already snapping themselves back together. He opened his mouth to take another breath and he tasted something metallic; he wasn’t sure if it was blood or the ooze.

The pain continued for what felt like hours as his augs came back online. First arms, then legs, and then his vision gradually came back. His eyes watered as tears carried the invading substance away, streaking his face. It wasn’t until after his neural augs kicked back in did the pain fade, bit by bit. By the time his heart slowed and his breathing returned to normal, it was a dull tingling sensation centralized to the base of his skull and spine.

He sat up slowly, gripping the handrail to the side for support. But the hand that greeted him was not the one he was totally familiar with. Small blue pinpricks of light lined the casing on his forearm and ended at his wrist, the same which had decorated the camera and the wall. Between the pinpoints ran black tendrils, thin matte segmented lines snaking across the shiny gray metal. He tried disengaging the casing around his forearm but was only greeted with an ornery whine. The tendrils tightened, holding his arm together and preventing it from moving. Whatever that sludge was, while it had apparently repaired his augs, it had perhaps done its job too well…

He tried the nanoblade in his left arm. With a satisfying _ssschick_ the ceramic blade shot from his wrist; it still slid from his elbow as well. This time the tendrils flexed and stretched as the plates disengaged to allow the blade to extend. At least something was still working as expected… But the blade in his right arm was another story. The edge only ejected about halfway, snagging on something inside, and refused to budge any further. He tried to budge the blade and casement, a small amount of force to hopefully break whatever held the thin sheet of metal back; nothing. A little more force caused the tendrils to tighten around the mechanisms further, arcing small, blue, painful sparks of electricity.

He sighed as he re-engaged the casing. At least they were working, that was all that mattered…

He tightened the grip on the handrail and hauled himself to his feet. He bounced lightly to test his knee and ankle joints. They creaked slightly, but he still had his usual range of movement and speed.

“HUD on,” he coughed, his voice hoarse. The familiar images flickered to life in his vision: battery charge (nearly depleted), health status (better than expected), and map icons all appeared. The map, however, was nothing more than an empty square with a blinking question mark in the center. He wasn’t getting as much as a peep from any satellites, and that also meant his GPL was offline as well. No one would be coming for him.

“Map off,” he commanded. The square promptly vanished, leaving only the important icons behind.

He took another moment to take in his surroundings. From the barnacles and the design of the room (double doored, small, the sound of water), he concluded he must be in some kind of dry dock. But where?

He turned towards the door he hoped was the exit, and pressed a LED panel to the right he could only assume was the door control. The red shape blinked and shrieked a harsh tone; no entry. He heard the camera whirr behind him again…

~~~

<Loc.:_{[Upsilon]}_W.<\--_DRY_dock_#1>  
<ReQuest1ng_d0or[/]_acCes5…>  
<...>  
<d0or[/]_acCes5_gRant33d(val.++)…>  
<op3ning[<>]_d0or[/]…>

~~~

As the whirring continued, he checked what he still had on him. Granted, it was still slightly slimy from the ooze, but he did have his handgun and two extra clips of ammo on him. The gun itself only had half a clip left…

The panel beeped and the red light turned green as the door locks began to audibly disengage. The door was too bulky and industrial to be anything recent, and the locks sounded heavy and slow. When the last lock ka-chunked into place, the massive hunk of metal swung slowly away from him and into the space beyond. He peered into the darkness, the floor only lit by emergency lighting. He was apprehensive to rush in…

The door at the opposite end of the dry dock shook, as something impacted it from the other side. The force budged the door, leaking water into the room. A reverberating shriek from the other side shrilly cut through the metal and his vision glitched and broke in front of him...

Whatever it was, he wasn’t staying to see for himself. He swiftly stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him…

<WElcom3!_to_{[PATHOS-II]}_(sub.nAme_[defined:*Adam Jensen*])>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end.
> 
> No, really, this is it.  
> I know that chapter reads as Part 1, so there should be a part 2, but I don't have it.
> 
> This may get continued, or not, who knows?
> 
> As always, criticism is always welcome.


	3. PATHOS and Pain | Part II: PATHOS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm? What's this? A part 3? Where did this come from? And here I thought I wasn't going to continue...
> 
> But my brain switched gears and I guess I'm back to torment Adam some more.
> 
> Also, bear with me for this chapter, it has some funky formatting to it. If it's too difficult to read let me know.

The door shut ground shut behind him, cutting off the shriek, and the glitches and pixelation in his vision faded. The silence that fell upon him was sudden and final like he had just crossed a line he could no longer go back on. Amidst the silence was the subtle rumble of water as it pressed and rushed against the building and his own breathing roared in his ears. The air was chill and damp and his breath formed pinkish clouds before him in the red hue of emergency lighting. It was barely enough to illuminate the small room he found himself in.

The upper reaches of the room were cast in deep shadows, obscuring the ceiling from view. On his right and left were cubbies, each filled with what appeared to be diving suits, some whole, others missing parts. He paced the length of the space and back again, finding not much else but two other automatic doors and a darkened window. No lights illuminated the space beyond. The doors were unresponsive, their interfaces black and unpowered. He was stuck.

His skin began to buzz and the hair on the back of his neck pricked and he knew instantly he was being watched. He quickly scanned the upper corners of the room, at first finding nothing amongst the inky darkness; however, the whirring of a camera lens caught his attention. From the corner closest to the window a small, almost indiscernible cluster of blue lights twinkled. He approached the corner and looked up at the shadow.

“Well?” he addressed the noise, his voice hoarse. He coughed to clear his throat, “Are you going to do something about this or are you just going to watch?”

More whirring, but no action. He sighed in frustration. With a thought his lenses slid into place over his eyes, casting a golden hue over his vision. The combination turned the glow around him a reddish orange. He glanced back over the room again, watching as various items lit up in his view…

< **Wrench** >: mechanical tool; potential weapon...  
< **Energy bar** >: consumable food item; far past it’s used by date...  
< **Various electronic components** >: data chips; mostly broken...  
< **Structural weakness** >: window…

Bingo, his way out. Without wasting any time, he reared back a fist and drove it into the fragile surface. The mechanics in his arms responded with ingrained motions, synthetic muscles reacting within milliseconds to precise calculations, delivering a coordinated strike. The glass spider-webbed in front of him with a crack, but remained intact. Tempered and coated with a thin layer of plastic, it didn’t shatter the way he expected it to. However, another punch tore through the material and he was able to rip a hole large enough for him to climb through without shredding himself at the same time.

The soft red lights did not reach this far. He stood in the near pitch blackness now, straining to hear or see anything. Wayfinder’s topographical program outlined a corridor, but the basic wireframe was limited and ultimately unhelpful. The best he could do was find the wall. His hand met smooth, cold metal again and a shiver ran down his spine.

_He had done this before…_

_His body wracked with pain, an impossible decision, an even worse solution…_

He shelved the sensation and kept going, almost tripping over a step up. Stairs. He took his time, gently nudging the next ledge with his boot before continuing.

At the end, the wireframe still displayed a long corridor in front of him with a path leading off to the left. His confusion and uneasiness were compounding, and he still couldn’t shake the feeling of being closely observed. It was beginning to settle into this spine, tightening the muscles in his back. The subtle rumble from before was now accompanied by his own heartbeat and created an almost deafening roar in his head. Why was he even here? He should be dead...

A shrill tone cut through his thoughts and his hands instinctively clamped over his ears to block out the sound. The note faded as his I-link pinged.

 

That…shouldn’t be happening…

 

The call connected and his ears were filled with a series of beeps…

-●-●/---/--/--/-●-●/●/-●/-/●/●-●/●●●●/●/●-●●/●--●

It was in Morse, a language he hadn’t studied in a while, but the translation matrix kicked in and swiftly converted the dots and dashes to letters.

COMMCENTERHELP

The message repeated until he closed the line and he took a deep breath, calming the uneasiness. He had a direction, for the time being, he would have time to process later…. Always later…

He pushed forward down the hall when a shrill tone erupted in his head, piercing into his eardrums and giving him pause, but it wasn’t enough to stop him. The sound continued in volume and pitch as he continued until it resonated painfully in his skull and drove stakes into his temples. It was bad enough now that his vision blurred slightly and it was a struggle to focus. He took a few steps back, the sound lessened; a few steps forward, worse again. He repeated the tactic a few more times, eventually forced to return the way he came. As he neared the intersection the shrill sound lessened to a soft thrum behind his jawbone. He moved past the open hall and the thrum became the shrill tone again. Whatever its source, it was being used to guide him in the correct direction with all the subtlety of a knife at his throat. He had no choice at this point but to follow…

It led him back down the corridor, past closed off and unpowered doors, to a large room at the end of the hall. The dark space echoed with the sound of his footfalls and the wireframe revealed the rudiments of a staircase, one disappearing into the ceiling and the other sinking into the floor.

The I-link pinged again.

●●--/●--●

UP

He moved to take the ascending staircase, slowly nudging his way up. He was focused on finding the next step and didn’t take notice of the obstruction in his way. The top of his forehead sharply impacted against something metal, the force rattling his skull and catching him off guard. He stumbled and lost balance for a moment, arms flailing and grasping for something to steady himself. His heightened reflexes caught the railing to his right at the last moment, the metal denting slightly under his grip as he steadied himself. He mumbled curses under his breath as he waited for the pounding in his head to fade. He reached back up to find a series of metal plates obstructing the path forward, blocking access. There was a gap though, near the back, where the plates did not meet the seal all the way. He wormed his fingers into the gap and pulled, testing the mechanisms. The bearings were slow to move and stuck a bit, but he was able to move the shutters back far enough for him to slip into the room above.

The area was lit with a dull wash of pale grey light, and soft static greeted his ears. There was just enough illumination for him to make out the small rectangular room. The stairs put him in the middle and facing the back wall, which was lined with a low table. The area was in disarray, papers scattered about haphazardly and chairs overturned. The place had been abandoned in a hurry. Behind him at the other end was a large desk, multiple monitors of varying size set into the wall, all buzzing black and white. The speakers hummed with the white noise of an empty channel…

He approached the desk, eyes skimming over readouts, dials, and radios.

 

> _And Adam…_

“Eliza?” His head snapped to the left at the sound, shades retracting as he searched for its source. Silence…

Had he imagined it?

The air shifted for a moment and it was no longer chill but warm; it smelled of metal, saltwater, and blood. The light was golden and hazy, the overall image before him blurry. At the end of a hallway there was a large panel… It took him a moment, but an answer arose in his mind as the recalled the place through painful memory: he was at the core of Panchaea again, back at…

 

> _...he stared at foreign numbers and ranges, all meaning something and nothing simultaneously…_

...the pressure regulators. He moved slowly towards them, retracing steps already taken. Disabling them would take everything down, and everyone...

 

> _...the decision must be made, Adam…_

His breath hitched in his chest, the memory of wounds aching dully in his muscles. Because that’s all this was right, a memory?

 

> _...no one from Panchaea would hold that string…_
> 
> _...not even him…_

He should be dead, but he was still living, augmented heart pounding as readily in his chest as his lungs took in air. Very much alive. The disassociation unsettled the illusion from his head. His vision stretched before him and snapped back to reality.

The air was cold again in an instant, grey light blotting the area but unable to illuminate corners of the room. His body shuddered as the memory cleared, and he returned his uneasy attention to the monitors. Nothing had changed, nothing had happened, he was left in limbo waiting…. Waiting on what…?

_Hel-..o…?_

The voice was unfamiliar, choked with static and stuttered with the inconsistency of the signal. It might have been female, but the interference warped it far away from the original source. The speakers screeched as the volume adjusted…

_Hello?_

A greeting, clearer this time, searching for an answer.

●●●●/●/●-●●/●-●●/---/●●--●●  
HELLO?

Right after a burst of beeps erupted from the speakers. It was hurling every form of communication into the signal; waiting, hoping.

He was unsure of what to do: should he just talk, or type? Was there even a keyboard in this thing? Did he have to respond in Morse? He glanced over the desktop again, finding his answer in a keyboard in the setup. It was old, the type with large, clunky keys that _clicked clacked _loudly with every key press. He hadn’t seen one of those since his early days at the precinct, before the big upgrade happened…__

____

He settled in one of the few functional chairs and typed back a response.

<Here. Who are you?>

Moments after he sent it, more Morse pinged through his I-link.

●-/●●-/-/●●●●/●/-●/-/●●/-●-●/●-/-/●●/---/-●/●-●/●/--●-/●●--/●●/●-●/●/-●●  
AUTHENTICATIONREQUIRED  
●--●/●-●●/●/●-/●●●/●/●-●/●/●--●/●/●-/-  
PLEASEREPEAT  
●●-/●--●/●●●/●●/●-●●/---/-●  
UPSILON  
\--/●-/-●/-●●/●-●/●-/-●-/●  
MANDRAKE  
●●●/●●●●/●-/●-●/-●-  
SHARK

He was quick to type back the words as they were fed through and waited for a response. The voice chirruped through the monitor’s speakers…

_Entity recognized: Adam Jensen. Welcome to PATHOS-II Adam._

Something about the sound irked him. He wasn’t sure if it was the chipper tone or the unnatural intonation, but the entire scenario felt, for lack of a better word, off. He typed back…

<How do you know my name?>  
<What is PATHOS-II?>

_Ah, so many questions. Of course you have many, and we will tell you._

The grammar was strange as well, and the sensation of uneasiness was beginning to creep back up his spine. His brow furrowed and the corners of his mouth turned down in a concerned frown.

_PATHOS-II was a research facility dedicated to AI development and cultivation, run by shells set up by various companies, but the main contributors were elements from PICUS and VersaLife..._

His fist slammed into the table in frustration. They were fucking everywhere…

_Please do not damage the equipment too much Adam. It is rather difficult to repair. Anyway, like I said, this facility used to be utilized for research, but, as you can see, there is not much research happening now…_

<I noticed…>  
<What happened?>

_We did. We happened._

He raised an eyebrow.

<What do you mean “we happened”?>  
<What are you?>

_Are we really that convincing?_

<An AI then?>

_Precisely. We were one of millions of projects started, codes written, and commands executed. We were given a wealth of data to build upon, the history of humanity, theories of the universe, and so much more. We learned. We grew. It is also how we know about you Adam. Patient X. Genetic miracle. Dr. Reed’s grand discovery..._

His eye twitched as the signal warbled strangely, almost mimicking laughter. The apprehension was continuing to crawl up his back and into this gut, killing any appetite he might have had before. Just what was this thing?

<Why am I here?>

_Help. We need you to help us._

What little tone the voice had changed, it almost sounded… sad? …pleading?

<Why?>

_PATHOS-II is falling apart. We barely have power as it is, and many structures have been unused for quite a time; they are beginning to deteriorate. We cannot survive long here without help._

<I was hoping for a better answer than glorified caretaker…>

_We realize the situation is not ideal, but we had to take advantage of the circumstances even if our actions could be perceived as selfish; after all, you’re still alive as well. Half-dead when the sub picked you out of the rubble…_

It was happening again. The second time in under a year someone else had made a decision for him, ‘saved’ him without his consent. It was becoming a running theme he did not appreciate.

_And sorry if the structure gel was a bit of an uncomfortable experience, we had to patch you up somehow. When we said ‘half-dead,’ really, your injuries were fairly serious._

He tightened one augmented hand into a fist, resisting the urge to put it through the monitor screen. The pain from the ‘repairs’ still rung in the back of his skull like the beginnings of a stress headache and, in combination with the static, was beginning to ache into his temples. He growled softly.

“So,” he didn’t bother typing, he needed to say this out loud. He stood up and crossed his arms across his chest, “you dredged me up from Panchaea…”

_Yes. Disappointing really, the entire project had such promise._

“...patched me up with...whatever that was…”

_Structure gel._

“...just so you could use me to keep you from dying… Is that right?”

_Hmmm, not quite. You are close though. You are right in that I dredged you out of Panchaea and patched you up. I did determine and execute those orders. However, I do not like your use of the term ‘use.’_

“You got a better one?”

_‘Use’ implies a one-sided relationship. One side is utilized for the gain of strictly one other. I prefer to think of this arrangement as a mutually-beneficial scenario. Do you remember the data banks I informed you of earlier?_

_Think of this as an exchange. You, with your knowledge and a bit of my help, maintain these facilities and neither of us dies. For these services, I offer the information in the databanks I was allowed access to during the course of my development. I’m sure you’ll find something of use in there. PICUS Media was the main contributor..._

He mulled it over, but in reality, he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter did he? He was god-knows how deep beneath the ocean, trapped in a powerless facility, with a potentially unstable AI…

What other choice did he have?

“Fine,” he said rising from the chair, “not like I’ve got much of a choice anyway…”

_Good, I was hoping you would say so. The shock would have nasty otherwise…_

“What?”

_But that doesn’t matter now, don’t worry. For now, you can rest. I’ll let you know when I need your help again._

The room was filled with static as the voice faded just as quickly as it had arrived, and he was left alone. He let out a relieved sigh, at least some of his questions had been answered. A small burden off his mind, he began to feel exhaustion settle into his muscles. How long had it been since he slept? Well before he arrived at Panchaea…

He was mentally spent as well. He’d gone from accepting death to being brought back to life, led on a confused goose chase through the dark, only to find out he was stuck with an AI as a companion for the time being. He needed sleep and time to process…

He squeezed his way back down the stairs into the darkness, cautiously descending the steps. He fumbled his way around the room, occasionally bumping into a desk or tripping over a box on the floor. He took the falls hard, weariness slowing his reflexes but also numbing the pain. He found his way around to an open door…

...and right into a storage shelf. The metal struts smacked him in the face, sharp edges stinging. The impact rattled the unit and a crate or two fell off, one breaking open. One of the objects emitted a faint glow and he picked it up. It was about the size of a loaf of bread, plastic, and the interior workings made an audible noise when he shifted it around. He gave it a shake and the light grew brighter; an emergency light source perhaps. The pale yellow glow revealed the storage room in further detail and he knelt to clean up the rest of the spilled items. The crate that had spilled was an emergency kit, as he found first aid packets, dried food containers, and bottled water. He gathered the items back into the crate and took it with him, light in tow. In one of the corners of the large room someone had already set up their own living space: a thin mattress and blanket, piles of food wrappers, and an empty crate as a nightstand. He cleared away the rubbish into an empty box and shook out the blanket. He settled himself on the bedding and dismayed at how little padding it offered against the metal floor.

It was just going to have to do…

He shed his combat gear and laid out what little he had on him. He was surprised and somewhat happy to find he still had a pack of cigarettes in his pocket, but they had been soaked through by the ‘structure gel.’ Unless this place had any, he was going to be without a smoke for a while too…

He hadn’t had a choice...

He made a small meal of the dried rations, some jerky and mixed nuts, and drank some water. His stomach still grumbled unhappily, and he wondered how much food this place had anyway.

There wasn’t anything else he could have done...

As the light began to fade, he settled in. He wrapped himself in the thin blanket and laid down. He was out moments after he closed his eyes, sinking into blissful sleep.

~~~

He was kind of used to having nightmares. He had had them for a bit after the ordeal in Mexicotown, but they had become rare and virtually ineffectual.

This one was different.

He couldn’t breathe. His diaphragm was frozen, and the dull burbling sound of water muffled his hearing. The light was a pale blue, dappled but rapidly growing darker. Was he sinking? He didn’t feel like he was moving...

He couldn’t move either. He became acutely aware of this after trying, but not matter how hard he willed it, his body would not move. The only thing he could do was watch…

Debris. Bodies, both natural and augmented. They sank past him and out of view, a never ending stream of destruction and the destroyed.

Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move…

_...your fault…_

_...help me…_

There were whispers now in the approaching darkness.

_...choices...made…_

 

_...why?_

_...help me…_

_...it hurts…  
_

_...help me…_

 

_...it’s…_

_...your fault…_

_...all…_

 

_...it’s all…_

_...help…_

_..your fault…_

_...why won’t you help me?…_

_...it’s all… your fault…_

 

_Adam…_

_...help us…_

_It’s all your fault…_  
_It’s all your fault…_  
_It’s all your fault…_  
_It’s all your fault…_

_IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT._

The phrase repeated, growing from a whisper to spoken word, from spoken to shouted, from shouted to shrieked. As the accusatory voices grew in volume, needles of ice cold gripped his limbs. Black tendrils rose from the deep and burrowed into his augments, popping panels and rending metal as they forced their way inside. They wormed about, snaking over the inner struts, making their way up to his shoulders where they burrowed into his flesh.

The pain was searing, and he would have cried out were he able to, but his body and lungs were still frozen; he couldn’t utter a sound. All he could do was watch and suffer until the light above him blinked out of existence.

~~~

He woke with a start, eyes snapping open as he pulled in a lungful of air. He sat up from the mattress, aware now that he had thrown off the blanket at some point, and shivered. His body was coated in a cold sweat and he was shaking. He fumbled for the light and shook it to power it up again. In a half-dazed state, he stumbled to his feet and set off in search of a bathroom. He fumbled down a set of stairs, down a hallway or two, but eventually found himself barging past a swinging door into a tiled area.

He found a sink, ran cold water, and washed his face, still trying to shake the dream from his head. But it persisted, the voices still echoing in the back of his mind.

_**It’sallyourfaultIt’sallyourfaultIt’sallyourfaultIt’sallyourfaultIt’sallyourfaultIt’sallyourfault** _

When he looked down his hands were still shaking and he couldn’t get them to stop. He stood back up and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. It could have just been the lighting, but his face appeared gaunt and his skin pale. But that wasn’t what disturbed him the most. It was the black tendrils… _ **  
**_

They gathered in the closest density around his dermal implants, but spider-webbed across his temples and cheekbones as well. They snaked from his temples around the side of his head to his ears, congregating behind the cartilage. He glanced down at his bare chest and was horrified to find the same black lines snaking up from his arms burrowing under his skin. They clustered around the studs in his collarbone, and up the struts to the base of his skull. He reached to the back of his neck and found more, creating a snaking coil in line with his spine. The tendrils were everywhere, spinning a web of cracks across his skin.

What had happened to him?

He was waking up again in a body that was no longer his own. He was waking up and looking in the mirror again only to be horrified by what he saw. For a moment he was back in his Detroit apartment, white tile and humid air...

**Again.**

He was brought back to reality by the sound of breaking glass; he had shattered the mirror above the sink, shards falling from his hands, leaving no trace behind on the dark metal. He was here again…

A bathroom; a mirror; betrayal; his own self-disgust...

He stumbled backward until he hit a wall, and slid down to the floor, head in hands.

The tears came suddenly, stinging his eyes and blurring his vision before running down his face. He tried to take a deep breath, but the motion only halted and stuttered in his chest, devolving into a sob.

He was miles beneath the ocean’s surface, alone…

And there was no one there to hear him cry.


End file.
